


I'm With The Band

by Black_Hole_of_Procrastination



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Band Fic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 05:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10298597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination/pseuds/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination
Summary: Jon knows this means that the first thing Sansa did when she reached her hotel room was call him. That Sansa Stark thinks about him at all is still so new and ludicrously surreal, that Jon can’t stop himself from grinning like a fool.





	

Just some silliness I wrote on tumblr back in the fall. A followup to this [drabble](http://blackholeofprocrastination.tumblr.com/post/151520807011/jon-x-sansa-they-arent-together-but-everyone). 

**I'm With The Band**

Jon unlocks his phone and begins to thumb through his unread texts.

There’s one from the band’s publicist, Satin, reminding him about the radio interview he has scheduled tomorrow afternoon before their show. Jon types out a quick ‘ok’ before closing the message out and scrolling through the rest.

He chuckles under his breath when he sees the one from Jeyne. It’s a picture of Ghost seated on the couch beside to her, his belly exposed for scratching.

Jon’s left Ghost with Robb ever since his first tour, when it was just Jon and the guys crammed together in Edd’s van playing gigs at dives and teeny out-of-the-way venues that smelled like smoke and stale beer. In those days it was enough to know someone would be there just to feed and walk Ghost while he was away.

But things are different now. Jon is playing proper shows in sold out theaters with the band’s name at the top of the marquee and Robb is married a woman who, if the twice daily photo updates were anything to go by, had made it her mission to spoil Jon’s dog rotten.

_Looks like we’ve both moved up in the world, buddy_ , Jon muses, looking at the dopey, contented expression on his dog’s face.

A muffled snore draws Jon from his phone. He glances to where Grenn is sound asleep in the seat across from him, mouth hanging open. The drummer had collapsed there after the gig. None of the guys had wanted to try to move the heavy bastard, so they had merely thrown a blanket over him before trudging back to their bunks. Jon would like to join them, (this was their third city in five days and he’s dead on his feet) but he can’t turn in quite yet. He promised.

The dim glow of Jon’s phone is the only light in the front half of the bus aside from the headlights of the occasional passing car. Jon blinks blearily at his screen and busies himself with answering some emails, fighting the urge to close his eyes and add his snoring to Grenn’s.

Ten minutes crawl by before Jon’s phone buzzes. He smiles when he sees Sansa’s name and quickly swipes to accept the FaceTime invitation.

And there she is.

She’s all dolled up, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, the top half of her silver dress just visible on the tiny screen. It’s the same dress she’d been wearing in the selfies she sent him earlier. Jon knows this means that the first thing Sansa did when she reached her hotel room was call _him_. That Sansa Stark thinks about him at all is still so new and ludicrously surreal, that Jon can’t stop himself from grinning like a fool.

“Hey beautiful.”

“Hey,” she ducks her head, the ends of her ponytail swaying gently over one shoulder. “Good show?”

Jon shrugs.

“S’fine.”

_It would have been better with you there._

It was a mistake, bringing Sansa along for that first week of the tour. Jon got too used to seeing her curled up on the bus or singing along in the wings at their shows. Too used to having her within arm’s reach.

Jon’s always liked the road. Goofing with the guys and playing their music, that’s what Jon lives for. It’s what makes the rest of it (the hours in the studio, the interviews, the goddamn cameras in his face) worth it. But ever since Sansa left the bus to head back to the city, Jon’s been restless. He’s been keeping track, counting down the days until their last gig. He’s never done that before.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” Sansa teases when he’s quiet for too long. “You don’t have some groupies stashed away on the bus, do you?”

Jon rolls his eyes.

Sansa takes great pleasure in ribbing him and the guys for their “rock n’ roll” lifestyle. Jon’s not entirely sure what it was she expected to find when he invited her on the bus with them, but he suspects it was something more along the lines of smashed guitars and trashed nights with pretty girls than the reality of unwinding from gigs with mugs of herbal tea and bickering with Val when she inevitably cheats at cards.

“How was the junket?” Jon asks, changing the subject.

“Long.”

“I’ll bet.”

When Sansa doesn’t elaborate, Jon knows something isn’t right.

Sansa’s always been good at putting on a brave face, but Jon likes to think that over the last three months he’s come to learn her tells. That he can see past the polite veneer.

Jon knows she was nervous. This is her first big film. Her big break. And while Sansa’s no stranger to doing press, he’s sure promoting a family sitcom pales in comparison to the media pressure of promoting a film that’s already garnering awards show buzz.

But this seems like it’s more than just a case of nerves. There’s something Sansa isn’t saying, and from the way she’s not meeting his eye, Jon can tell he’s not going to like it.

“Jon…I need to tell you something.”

“Ok.”

Jon’s stomach sinks. He tries not to let his mind jump to conclusions, but already it’s racing with a thousand and one possibilities.

_She’s ending it. The distance was too much. She’s met someone else. She’s finally come to her senses._

“I may have said something…about us,” He watches as she plays nervously with the ends of her ponytail. “To a reporter from _The Dornish Sun_.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry. I know we said that we were going to keep it out of the press, it’s just…she kept trying to dig up something about Harry and I, and I just…I couldn’t do it anymore.”

Jon is quiet a moment.

He knows he should be angry. Jon’s always been very private. He’s never liked having his personal business plastered all over the cover of tabloids, and between the rumors about Val and his breakup with Ygritte, he’s had his share of it.

When he and Sansa first started up whatever it is they’ve been doing, he’d been upfront about it. They both agreed, no cameras and, if anyone should ask, no comment. But as Jon watches Sansa shift nervously on his phone screen, her teeth nervously worrying the edge of her lower lip, he finds he’s weirdly ok with the idea of the world finding out about them.

Maybe that’s owed in part to Hardyng. It was the studio’s idea, to play up the possibility of something between Sansa and her costar. Jon was hardly thrilled when Sansa mentioned it, and even less so when he’d woken up one morning to find the internet flooded with photos of Hardyng with his arm slung low around Sansa’s back while leaving a club with some of their castmates. And though Jon knows it’s all bullshit for the cameras, there’s still a small caveman part of his brain that would enjoy rearranging Hardyng’s perfect, smiling face.

“Ok,” Jon says at last, the tightness in his chest easing.

Sansa blinks at him, a little incredulous.

“Ok?”.

“I’m glad actually,” he admits, running a tired hand along the scruff on his jaw. “I want them to know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Sansa is beaming at him, and Jon can’t help but grin back.

“I’ve been writing some new stuff,” Jon confesses to her, the words leaving his mouth before he can think better of it.

Jon doesn’t do much solo writing. He’s never had Sam’s way with words. But with Gilly pregnant, Sam’s not tagged along on the road this time, leaving Jon to his own devices.

“That’s great!” Sansa enthuses. “Can I hear it?”

Jon hesitates, regretting having said anything at all. Without Sam’s input, there’s nothing to hide behind. The music is all Jon’s, the lyrics are all Jon’s, and there’s no mistaking the inspiration behind it. He feels like a coward, but he’s not ready to bare his heart like that just yet. Not again.

“It’s not finished,” he mutters. Thankfully Sansa doesn’t push. “I wish you were here.”

“Me too,” Sansa sighs. “Where’s your next show?”

“White Harbor.”

Sansa nods, her brow furrowing in thought.

“I’ll bet I could book a redeye to White Harbor and be there by morning,” she says, more to herself than to him. “I could meet you.”

“But I thought the studio needs you for press?”

“I’ve got some time off between now and the press tour in Essos,” Sansa shrugs, a coy smile creeping across her face. “Say the word and I could be yours for eight whole days.”

Jon’s pulse jumps in excitement.

_Eight days. Eight whole days of Sansa._

He knows he should play it cool. That this early in the relationship, looking too overeager won’t do him any favors. But in this moment he doesn’t care about looking cool, he just wants her _here_.

“Come.”

Sansa laughs.

“ _That_ will depend on you,” she smirks, an impish twinkle in her eye.

“Gods Sansa.” Jon groans, when he catches on to the double meaning she twisted out of his words.

Suddenly, he wishes he were anywhere else but on a bus with the guys. If Jon were alone right now, he would describe to Sansa _exactly_ what he plans to do when she arrives. Words come easier for Jon when it comes to this, and he suspects he could find just the right ones to have her flushed and breathless on the bed of her hotel room.

“But really Jon, are you sure it’s ok? The guys won’t mind?”

If it were some other girl, then maybe. Val’s always been rather no nonsense when it comes to ‘distractions’ on the road. But Jon’s got a feeling Sansa’s a distraction Val and the band won’t mind having around. (The guys’ll pretty much welcome anyone who can magic together some snickerdoodles in their shit bus kitchen with open arms).

“How soon can you get on a plane?”

“Only if you play me your new stuff,” Sansa teases.

“Deal,” Jon hears himself say. Hell, he’d agree to anything if it means Sansa will be in White Harbor waiting for him.

“Well it looks like I have some packing to do. See you in the morning?”

“See you in the morning,” Jon confirms, the words making him grin like an idiot.

Sansa presses her lips to the screen before hanging up.

Jon is still smiling when the sound of kissing noises makes him look up from his phone.

Grenn’s lips are comically puckered, the now awake drummer apparently having heard at least the tail end of Jon’s conversation.

“Shut up,” Jon grumbles, hitting Grenn playfully in the arm, before getting up to head to his bunk. He’d need to catch some sleep if he was going to scramble to pick Sansa up from the airport in a few hours.

“She’s too good for you, Snow,” Grenn calls after him.

“I know.”

“Well, I like her, so don’t fuck it up.”

_I won’t_ , Jon promises himself.


End file.
